A Bad Joke
by beisel76
Summary: An alternative to The events of Season 5. Richie Ryan doesn't kill but Carter Wellan, but the two fall into a relationship instead. Slash, rated for breif sex, language. Could  be considered AU due to plot changes. Reviews Loved
1. End of Innocence Part 1

**Warning:** Slash, sexual situations, plot tweaking, completely uncannon pairing. This is just how I envisioned End of Innocence from Highlander Season 5 going. This series is tand alone but also the background for crossover I'm writing.

**Disclaimer:** All characters here in belong to either Rick Riordan or the creators, owners, and producers of Highlander. The only character I own is Kleo, who will only be menitoned and later on as it is.

A Bad Joke

Chapter 1 - End of Innocence Part 1

It was a horrendously bad joke, Carter admitted. But after a thousand years of winning, or having Haresh come to his aid, he'd forgotten how to check his attitude. Truthfully, Haresh rarely ever let him do any fighting; it had been fifty years since he'd taken a head. But what was he supposed to do, turn tail and flee an immortal that had barely scraped together two decades of age?

But even as he exited his truck, sword in hand, Carter wondered if he was making the right decision. There was a force eminating from the redhead, a power that rolled off him in waves. Carter looked up, into his eyes. They were filled with anger and hate and fear, painted a beautiful shade of blue. Carter couldn't think of the name for that particular shade of blue, but he was sure it was a separate color and refused to classify it under the broad umbrella-term of 'blue'.

"Is it worth losing your head over a bad joke?" he asked. "We don't have to do this."

"Yes we do!" Richie replied angrily, lunging forward swiftly and smoothly.

Carter found the anger in the redhead's voice and eyes to be disturbing, to say the least. He had no quarrel with this boy, yet he was determined that they would fight the death. Carter supposed it didn't really matter, since the boy would die of his own stupidity. He could hardly be faulted for defending himself, even against an opponent so obtusely green that he probably pissed grass.

But then he felt the first strike of the boy's sword. He parried it easily enough, told himself it was the speed of the blow that had thrown him off. After the next twenty blows that passed between them, he had to retract his previous thoughts on the boy, if he should even call him that. The redhead was fast, strong, and vicious. In almost a thousand tears of watching immortals fight, Carter had never seen someone put all of their strength in from the very beginning. He would have been impressed, if he hadn't had to admit at the same time that he was losing to the kid.

Carter brought his knee up hard into the redhead's abdomen. His opponent didn't falter for one minute, didn't even falter or drop his sword an inch from its target. Carter tried to loop his other arm around the kid's chest to form a hold, but he threw his weight backwards onto Carter and spun out of it.

_Oh damn him_, Carter thought, his attention now suddenly averted from the fight to his groin. It was a fault in even the best immortal, Haresh had taught him. They all got off on the battle to varying degrees, and Carter had forgotten about his predisposition to excitement during a fight. Now he was semi-hard and getting worse by the minute. And of course, just to complicate things for himself, Carter decided at that moment to notice how very perky the kid's rear was. _Bloody brilliant_, he thought to himself.

"What's this all about?" he demanded of the redhead. He searched desperately in his memory for the name he had been given not ten minutes ago back at that dingy bar. "I hope I would remember offending such a comely beau."

"Nothing personal leather boy." Richie answered. He had never paid too much attention in his English classes before he had dropped out, but he was pretty sure Blondie was hitting on him, and with come-ons of the archaic variety, as if to add injury to insult.

Carter lunged forward, taking advantage of the close proximately of the telephone pole. Such were the advantages of being in the middle of nowhere – no witnesses and various annoying obstacles to fight around.

Richie's eyes widened slightly as he felt the hard wood of the telephone pole pressing against his back. His anger spiked in that instant. He was getting sloppy, allowing himself to get distracted. If he continued on like this, it would be Mac all over again - and Joe wasn't here to save him this time. He winced as he felt Carter step forward and press his body to his. He felt trapped, and he was, between the unyielding pole and the firm body accompanied by brilliant grey eyes.

_This is so not the time for this_, he told his nether regions, _Wait until later, when I'm not about to get killed!_

He brought his sword up to strike. It was a desperate move, he would be the first to admit that, but it was better than losing his head. Carter blocked it, and they exchanged a few more blows, until Carter nudged his shoulder into the sensitive space under Richie's arm. He stopped short of disarming him, but he had effectively pinned Richie's sword arm by the sensitive pressure point in the shoulder.

"Well," Richie demanded, "What the hell are you waiting for? Finish it."

Carter flashed him a brilliant smile. Then he leaned in close, pressing against every inch of Richie's chest with his own. He moved his left leg in between Richie's thighs, and thrust his hips forward ever so slightly. Then he skimmed his slips over the bottom of the other man's ear, not giving way even a fraction of an inch as Richie tensed.

"I think we can think of something far more interesting to do, don't you?" Carter asked. Richie was taken aback, very taken aback.

"I did just pick a fight with you, you realize." He countered. He couldn't do this, not with a guy. It had been years, and it hadn't been _at all_ enjoyable the last time. Well, the sex had been good, but all three of his buddies had ended up dead by Martin Hyde's sword. The experience was not on his 'repeat' list. Carter flashed him another shit-eating grin.

"We'll call it a draw." Carter replied. "You're not gonna stand me up are you?"

Carter rolled his hips into Richie's and watched the younger immortal squirm. He kept his lips curved into a smile as he trailed the downwards to the fluttering pulse just beneath the delicate skin of the redhead's neck. He ran his tongue out for a fraction of a second, and his smile widened even further when he registered the jerk in the other man's muscles.

"Your place or mine love?" he asked.

"Crappy rooming house down on South and Pine okay with you?" It wasn't like this would go anywhere, so why not? It beat losing his head, and he'd done the same deed for less when he was younger, back when he was on the street.

"Perfect." Carter said, "My teacher would never be caught dead there. He won't follow us there." He didn't fail to notice how Richie tensed at the word 'teacher'.

He released the other immortal, and turned around. He got back into his truck and scribbled a note for Haresh to find when he eventually tracked him to that ghastly tavern and then to the sand lot they were now leaving. The blonde tossed the folded up yellow paper to the ground, and leaned out his window to call to Richie.

"After you! And don't try to lose me – I'm very persistent!" he called to the other immortal, who was about to put on his helmet.

It was Richie's turn to grin now. Carter felt his hearth throw in an irregular beat when he saw it. But even from twenty feet away he could see that it didn't touch those blue eyes. That was going to change, Carter decided.

Richie unlocked the door with surprising speed. He stepped back, holding it open for Carter, who gave a gracious flourish with his hand as he stepped over the threshold. He didn't waste any time taking in the sloppily-built room with its crooked ceiling, devastated window sealing and creaky floor boards. He took a few stepped into the room and waited for Richie to close the door. As soon as the redhead turned, he shoved him up against the door unceremoniously.

Carter attacked Richie's lips with a gentle ferociousness, at the same time he pushed Richie's jacket off his shoulders. The leather garment fell to the floor in a crumpled heap near enough to Richie's feet to trip him up.

"You don't waste any time do you?" Richie asked in between small chaste kisses to the lips as Carter set about vesting him of his shirt.

"The faster I get you naked, the longer I can make you scream; simple logic love." Carter replied as he finally triumphed over the white cotton shirt. He pulled it upward, forcing Richie to raise his arms above his head to allow Carter to rip the shirt off and toss it to the floor somewhere off to the side. Richie smirked.

"How do you know I'm a screamer?" he asked teasingly as he began unbuttoning Carter's leather vest.

The other man leaned in close and dropped his hands to grip the firm flesh of Richie's rear. He picked him up and locked their lips together as he carried Richie the small distance between the front door and the bed. He bent over at the hips to lower them onto the cheap mattress and the coarse and disheveled sheets. He broke the kiss to allow the younger immortal a small reprieve to take in oxygen while he set about taking his own shirt off.

"You will be when you're with me." He said before swooping in for another kiss.

Richie sat up and stretched his hands out to the fly of Carter's leather jeans. He had his thumb and forefinger on the zipper when Carter grabbed his wrists and pushed him back down onto the bed. The blonde busied himself with undoing the younger man's jeans and pulling them down along with his boxers just enough to let his erection spring free of the confines of his clothing.

"Let's get warmed up." Carter whispered huskily as he wrapped a hand around Richie's manhood. He slid his hand up and down the length of the shaft in a tight grip, occasionally digging his thumb into the tiny crevice on the head. He smeared the beads of pre-cum that began to appear form the slit around the head, but all the while kept his eyes on Richie's face.

He kept his eyes open, but his throat was exposed due to how far backwards he craned his neck as Carter continued jerking him. The redhead panted and groaned, but never moaned or spoke words to him. Carter frowned; that wouldn't do. He suddenly tightened his grip on the sensitive organ pulsating in his hand.

"Like that?" he asked in a whisper. Richie let out an exasperated breath and turned his eyes back to the blonde.

"C'mon." He said quietly, not quite pleading but certainly not demanding.

"Ask." Carter commanded.

Richie screwed his eyes shut and caught his breath. When he opened them, they were focused on Carter his a hard passion.

"Finish damn it!" he ordered. Carter smirked. He knew it was fake bravado and force in the voice. It was what anyone would expect from a hotheaded immortal travelling across the country taking heads, and that was why he used it.

"That'll do for now."

Then he took the hard cock back in his tight grip and began his ministrations again. This time he was faster, and he could feel the organ growing heavier and heavier. Just as Richie neared the brink of orgasm, he wrapped his other hand in the younger man's hair and pulled his head forward.

"Look at me." Carter said. "I want to see your eyes when you come."

He allowed himself a very small inward whoop of triumph when a faint pink tinge entered Richie's cheeks. The redhead focused his eyes on Carter's though, probably out of stubbornness. Richie had to admit that there was something about those stormy grey eyes though, that made his orgasm so much more powerful than he ever remembered it being.

Richie lay back on the bed, panting and sweaty as he watched Carter take each of his own digits into his mouth one at a time, cleaning his semen off with his tongue. Carter kept eye contact with him the entire time, and when he was done, he leaned forward and pressed his tongue through Richie's slightly-parted lips.

"You taste so sweet," he said after he pulled back to straddle Richie's lap. "Like a woman really."

Now there was no denying the surge of pink into the younger immortal's cheeks as he processed that statement. He feigned anger anyway, hoping that would be a good enough excuse to offer for the reaction. He didn't blush damn it!

"Fuck you leather boy!" he hissed.

Carter's eyebrows flew upwards as his lips spread into a wide smile. He raked his fingernails down Richie's taught abdomen, and relished the hiss the other man made as he did it. Then he ran the back of his fingers over the smooth and flaccid skin of Richie's erection.

"Have no doubt Richie, I plan to. Thoroughly."

Then he took Richie's hands in his own and guided them to rest on the tops of his thighs, still clad in his leather pants. He spread the redhead's hands out on each thigh, pushing them into the material of his pants. Then he rubbed the other man's hands up and down his legs, looking into his eyes as he spoke.

"It's a bygone fashion," he said, "but I think it suits." With this he guided Richie's hands to rest on the cusp of his thighs, a fraction an inch on either side away from the rather large bulge in his pants.

"You like?"

Not sure if Carter was referring to the pants or the bulge, but knowing his answer either way, Richie moved his hands to the fly of the pants. This time he succeeded in undoing the button and fly without being stopped by the blonde. He peeled the pants down just enough to allow the other immortal's sizable manhood to pop out of the confines of the leather, unhindered by any underwear.

"My turn now." Richie said as he propped himself up just enough to let the cock hover even with his face. "And I'll do you one better." He added before lashing out with tongue to strike the head.

Carter groaned. He wasn't used to this, not since whorehouses were outlawed in this country. _But damn_, he thought, _he's even better than that English lord's daughter I had back in 1483._

Richie sucked at the cock almost hungrily, never pulling back to breathe or re-adjust the length to fit it down his throat more comfortably. He kept eye contact with Carter too, which somehow made the other immortal want to turn him over and pound into him even more than he already had. Richie felt like he had a tiny amount of power as he watched Carter's eyes flutter open and then close while he panted.

"You look so _innocent_ with those big blue eyes," Carter said as he shifted his hips forward. He began to thrust urgently into Richie's mouth, and the other immortal brought one hand up wrap it around his waist. "And your mouth latched around my cock like a babe to a tit."

His breath caught in his throat, and Carter moaned loudly. He continued thrusting into the redhead's mouth as cum issued from his cock, spilling from him in a torrent and filling Richie's mouth. He pulled the younger man up, encircling him in his arms and pulling him in for a rough and sloppy kiss.

"Who's the screamer again?" Richie asked teasingly.

Carter delivered a hard and swift swat to his ass before he answered. Richie moaned then and low sound originating from somewhere deep in his chest that hadn't been touched for years.

"Oh, I've got time yet love. Be patient, I'll have you screaming as soon as my cock stops twitching. You dirty little thing."

"You're welcome." Richie answered smugly and they kissed once more.

Carter pushed him back onto the mattress. Richie laid back, tense with anticipation and arousal as the other immortal practically ripped his jeans off, along with his own leather pants. The blonde tossed both garments somewhere out of the way and then pressed his lips to Richie's collarbone, then his jaw, and finally his lips.

Carter aligned himself with Richie, making sure to grasp his thighs in a light grip. He took in a deep breath and looked down at the other immortal.

"You remember what to scream right?" He asked with a brilliant smirk.

Then, while Richie laughed, he thrust into him. The smile turned to a pained grimace, and then that expression faded. Richie's face smoothed, and he opened his eyes to focus them on Carter's

"Go ahead."

"Just relax love; I'll make it good for you." Carter leaned up for a quick kiss, and began to move.

After a few moments to adjust to the sensation of something so firm and large moving inside him, after so many years and a lifetime of horrible association, Richie found himself thrusting upwards in time with Carter's thrusts, trying to meet them. The burning sensation had faded, and he realized that he was moaning very quietly.

"You like that?" Carter asked him. He gave an incoherent response somewhere between a moan and contented sigh.

Carter threw his head back just a little and laughed. Then he leaned in for another kiss, longer and deeper this time, and quickened his pace. The blonde reached a hand around Richie's legs and grasped his erection, which had returned with a vengeance.

Soon Richie was completely lost to all knowledge and sensation outside of the shabby room. His mind kept shrinking until all he could contemplate was the rhythm of Carter's hips and the pounding of his heart, beating in his ribcage. He wrapped his legs around Carter's waist and _squeezed_, until the other immortal grabbed him by the backs of his knees and lifted them onto his shoulders.

"_Yes!_" he exclaimed, not sure who he was talking to.

He felt something hot and sticky flood his insides, but neither immortal stopped. Carter's thrusts grew deeper, and his pace quickened even more. Richie contracted his internal muscles, and Carter moaned loudly.

He flashed Richie another breath-taking smile, and manipulated his legs again. Now there was practically nothing between them. Carter displaced his weight between his own knees and the backs of Richie's thighs. The redheaded immortal could feel the pressure of Carter's nails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Richie could feel the next orgasm coming on, his second of the last ten minutes. He felt the coil that had formed in his abdomen compressing, waiting to burst. He threw his head back into the pillow; his eyes were shut tightly.

"Carter!" he screamed as he was flooded again.

He felt his own orgasm splatter his chest. The sticky fluid cooled stuck to his chest as he caught his breath. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Carter. He was lying on his side, his head propped up on his elbow, and he was staring at Richie.

"You ready for a shower, love?" Carter asked softly, punctuating his words with brief kisses to Richie's lips.

"Do I have to move?" he whined.

"If you lay here naked any longer, I might not be able to resist another round." Carter teased.

He leaned forward and latched onto Richie's nipple. He swirled his tongue around the hardening bud for a moment, and then pulled back. He kissed Richie one more time, and then pulled him up from the bed.

"C'mon." he said as he led Richie by the hand to the small bathroom. "We can warm up for round three." He added.

"I think we just trashed that bed. It might not be able to take another round." Richie joked as he bent over to turn the faucet on. Carter took the opportunity to grope his ass.

"That's why we'll be heading for my place once we get out of the shower." Carter finished.

Richie gave him a look, "You don't know what you're getting into." Carter pushed him into the shower, forcing him under the spray while he reached for a washcloth.

"I'm not one for one-night stands. Perhaps I should have told you that, but either way, you're stuck with me love."

Richie hummed, and leaned back into the firm body. Today was off to a good start, he thought. If it could keep this up for the rest of it, he might just stop in at Joes for a beer and a chat. He was in a good mood for once, and he couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd been in a good mood before then. Maybe the months of travel and challenges and death and nightmares were over, he hoped.


	2. End Of Innocence Part 2

End of Innocence Part 2

"Look Joe, I went by the place earlier and Richie wasn't interested in anything I had to say." Duncan said as he sat at the bar with a beer in hand. It was early for a drink by his usual standards, but today had been a very unusual day.

"Listen to me Mac!" The elderly watcher ordered in a voice that reminded Duncan of why he had ever befriended the man, and how he had ever been qualified to lead the watchers. Joe could be a great guy, and he usually was, but there were times he was not to be challenged or ignored; this was one of them. Truthfully, he reminded him of Connor. "

"Richie's in a lot more trouble than I thought." Joe said. "His watcher, Mike Barrett, saw him challenge and fight Carter Wellan on the outskirts of town about an hour ago. He called me, and I called Carter's watcher Shaneika Matthews to confirm; she saw it too." Duncan braced himself for heart-wrenching news.

"So, who won?" he asked.

"That's just it," Joe replied as he whipped down the bar and sent a pitcher of bud and two sweet iced-teas out on s tray for one of the waitresses. "They stopped fighting at a draw and went off together to the rooming house where Richie's staying."

"You think they went off to fight somewhere more private?" Duncan asked.

"Shaneika and Mike both said that towards the end it looked like it was getting…intimate." Joe said awkwardly, letting his own confusion show. Duncan choked on his beer.

"What the hell does that mean, _'intimate'_?" he demanded of his watcher.

"Hell if I know!" Joe replied. "But that's just the tip of the iceberg! Carter Wellan is the student of Haresh Clay, who turned up at the lot about two hours after Carter and Richie left. All he knows is that Carter and Richie went into it, and Shaneika's pretty sure he's coming after Richie."

"Where are they staying, do you know?" Duncan asked. This was his one chance to avenge Graham. He couldn't let it slip away.

"The hotel down on 32nd, the one across from the movie theater." Joe answered.

Duncan finished his beer and practically jumped out of his barstool. He grabbed for his coat and was half-way across the bar heading for the front door when Joe called out to him.

"What about Richie?" he demanded of the immortal.

"He can take care of himself!" Mac replied as he exited Joe's, not sparing a backward glance at his old friend.

Joe squeezed the cleaning rag he was holding in his hand. He focused his eyes on the gleaming wood finish of the bar, and threw the rag to the floor. It made a harsh whipping sound against the wet-mat, and Joe cursed. He couldn't lose them both, not like this.

He knew damn good and well what Shaneika had meant by intimate, and it worried him half to death. What if Haresh was using Carter as a lure to pull in Macleod? What if Carter slept with Richie and then took his head while he was sleeping or too tired to fight? Joe poured himself a beer from the tap, and swallowed it in one long slam.

"Today's already slipped into the shitter, and it's not even noon." He grumbled to himself. He couldn't even muster up the strength to flash Alexa a smile.

Carter watched the redhead sleep from his comfortable position beside him, in his own bed. He liked watching the other man sleep, enjoyed seeing his face placid and relaxed. He expected him to be tired, weary from weeks of cross-country trekking on his motorcycle and nights spent in shabby motels.

He hadn't expected the fits though. Richie would roll form side to side, and low sounds would issue from his throat. Carter had heard those sounds a million times before after every battle he had ever fought in during his time with Haresh. They were the sounds of a man living in a battle that had already ended. Every once in a while he would catch a comprehensible word.

"Mac!" Richie pleaded with his opponent.

Carter felt a pang of jealousy stab at his chest. Before he could let his tendency to assume the worst get the better of him, Richie jerked. Then he sat up, his muscles stiff and his chest heaving, and screamed.

"Richie! Love, it's alright! It's over, it's not real!" Carter urged him. He placed a hand on either side of the redhead's face, and waited for him to come back to reality.

"I'm sorry." Richie mumbled his apology and an excuse that Carter knew to dismiss.

"I'll forgive you if you tell me about it." he said. His voice was soft but firm. He guided Richie back to the soft and comfortable mattress. Richie sighed.

"You ever heard of Darius?" Richie asked.

"Yeah, he could have ruled all of Europe but he received the quickening of a holy man at the gates of Paris and turned his army back. He was a peacemaker."

"What happened to him also works the other way around. Mac was my teacher, and he had a good friend named Jim Coltec. He had this mystical mojo or something that let him absorb evil, and one day he just got a little too much. Mac knew he had to be stopped, and he ended up with a dark quickening from the last guy that Coltec fought. He made it home and found me training, waiting up for him. Then he tried to kill me, and he would have if Joe hadn't put five rounds in his back."

Carter tightened his encircling grip on Richie's shoulders. He felt angry, and sad. He couldn't imagine what he would do if Haresh tried to go for his head.

"You can keep going." He encouraged him. "I can tell it's not enough." He felt Richie's body quiver as he opened his mouth to speak again.

"I trusted him more than anyone; he and Tessa took me in off the streets, gave me a job, a place to stay, food, clothes. They were my family. _I never thought he'd come for me_." Richie deflated. The dam inside of him gave way. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, and Carter brushed them away.

"Have you seen him since?" he asked, trying to keep a lid on his own emotions.

"Yes, he tried to talk to me earlier this morning. He said he was still my friend, and I laughed at him, and I told him that next time it wouldn't be so easy for him to get me."

"How old is he?"

"400 give or take a decade. Why?" Richie peered up at him with glistening blue eyes.

"I'll kill him." Richie surged with motion. He turned to face Carter, trapping him with his weight.

"Why do you care?" he asked. "It's not like he's challenged you, he doesn't even know you." Carter put a finger to his lips.

"I didn't live for almost a thousand years taking strangers to my bed, let alone immortal strangers. I feel something with you, and that son of a bitch is hurting you. Whether he meant to or not is _bloody irrelevant_." Richie felt genuinely touched.

"I feel something with you too, but this whole relationship-thing is new to me, alright? Especially with another guy, and especially with another immortal, so take it easy on me." Richie said, half-joking.

"I suppose that's not too much to ask, since I'm robbing the proverbial cradle here." Carter replied, laughing. He sighed before continuing, on a more solemn note. "If you want me to leave him alone, I will, but as soon as he comes after you, his ass is mine."

"No, as soon as he comes after me his ass is _mine_, and we can work from there."

"Independent type, are you?" Carter asked, placing a kiss on Richie's forehead.

"Can't let you forget it either." The redhead replied jokingly.

"Well, since we've both agreed to give this 'relationship-thing' as you put it, a try, where am I taking you for dinner tonight?" Richie's eyes widened.

"Are you for real? It'd blow Delilah's mind if we went back there…"

"If I ever want to give you the experience of death by food-poisoning, that'll be the first stop."

"Alright, if you're serious about _this_," he gestured between them with his left hand. "Then you should meet Joe. He's the guy that saved my life."

"And since I am _completely_ serious about taking you out to dinner, I need to let you get some sleep." He placed a kiss on Richie's lips this time. It was long, and he stroked the inside of Richie's mouth with his tongue.

Richie hated to admit it, but he felt safe in this bed, with this guy he'd just met not even six hours ago. He knew he'd wake up, and that if he ran off as soon as he did, he'd be missed. That was more than he'd had since he'd lived with Mac and Tessa.

Maybe his life was _finally_ getting back on track, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

Haresh walked into the hotel room he shared with Carter a few hours later. He was tired, and just a little annoyed. He had been legitimately worried for his pupil when he'd arrived at the sand lot and hadn't found him. He'd searched all over the city for him, and then found him in the hotel room, laying in bed. He was about to say something in admonishment of Carter, but the he noticed the thick crop of short red hair that was nestled beside the pale golden curls he knew so well.

Oh, he thought as he put his coat down on the back of the desk chair. That would explain the second buzz.

He did his best to attain some information on Carter's 'friend' without waking either of them up. Late teens when he died, lived a hard life, well-built, probably rode a motorcycle judging by the jacket and boots lying in the corner of the room.

"He's not a spectacle you know." Carter said to him as he turned back to walk over to the desk. Haresh smiled.

"Since when do you enter a challenge ad then take the other immortal to bed Carter? Even for you, that's rash, no matter how cute the boy is."

"Isn't he just?" Carter asked, he slid out of the bed quietly and gracefully, so as not to wake Richie.

"How old is he anyway?" Haresh asked as he poured them both glasses of scotch.

"Died when he was 19, he's 22 now, and his name is Richie." Carter answered as he accepted one of the glasses. He sipped the spicy liquor and then set the tumbler back down on the table. The burning sensation was mild, and almost relaxing.

"Haresh, do you know an immortal named Duncan Macleod?" Carter asked as he perched himself on the edge of the bed Richie was still sleeping in. Haresh turned around to face him slowly, searching his memory for the name.

"Yes, we've both met him. You remember when we were traveling through Italy, when I killed Graham Ashe?"

Carter didn't think he could ever forget that day. He'd never thought that his teacher was the kind of man to humiliate an opponent, and apparently, neither had Haresh. The older immortal had changed profoundly in his views on his opponents and the game since then, and Carter was thankful for it. Now he didn't fight unless challenged, and even then he was not eager to cross blades.

"Yes, I remember." He said with a nod, eager for Haresh to continue with his train of thought.

"Duncan Macleod was the younger immortal that was there with Graham, the one who stayed in sanctuary until we left. Why do you ask? He didn't challenge you did he? I'd heard he was here." Haresh let his small amount of concern for his pupil shine through. He supposed there wasn't too much cause for worry, since Carter was sitting in front of him and his head was still attached to his body.

"No," Carter answered. "He didn't challenge me, but he's Richie's teacher, or he was." Haresh raised his eyebrows.

"_Was? _I wasn't aware that one could stop being a pupil of another immortal short of losing their head_._"

"Me either. Were you aware that _dark quickenings _actually existed?" Haresh barely managed to swallow the sip of scotch he had been taking at the time Carter when said that. When he made to set the glass down on the table, he changed his mind; he'd need more that a sip of scotch to get through this conversation. He poured himself another drink, and then downed it in one smooth gesture.

"I had only ever heard of them in theory. What details do you have?" he asked Carter.

"You knew Jim Coltec, right?" Haresh nodded.

"He saved me from myself in 1653 after I became a little too obsessed with the Game, how could I forget that man? He's my vote for canonization."

"Well, it seems he absorbed a little too much evil. He took one bad head too many the other day when he came into town to visit with Macleod, and ended up with a dark quickening. Macleod tried to save him, not sure how, but it ended up futile and he had to take poor Jim's head."

"And Richie was the first immortal he found afterwards." Haresh guessed. "How did he escape with his head? Macleod's improved exponentially, if the rumors I've heard are true."

"One of their friends who knows about their _interesting longevity predicament _shot him. By the time he revived, Richie was on his bike and headed south."

"I know what you're thinking Carter, and I'm telling you no to do it." Haresh said firmly. "You can't fight his battle for him, and he won't take kindly to you trying to either. Besides, I have a feeling that Macleod will challenge me, but if the dark quickening still holds, it might be best if we find another town to stay in."

"Last time I saw him, he looked pretty normal." Richie interrupted them from the bed. He was sitting up, stretching his arms out to the side. "And the rumors are true – he's damn near unbeatable."

"It's just as well that I've retired from the Game then." Haresh said. He offered his hand to Richie, who took it in a form grasp.

"We haven't been introduced properly; I am Haresh Clay." He said it with a bright smile, and a sincere but light voice. Richie was taken aback. He wasn't used to _nice_.

"Richie Ryan, pleased to meet you." He replied.

Carter felt a knot of tension he hadn't know was there loosen inside his stomach; Haresh approved enough to give his name and a gesture of courtesy. Anything else however, Carter knew would have to be earned on Richie's part. It was a start at least, he told himself as he watched the two immortals engage in polite banter; nobody had lost their head yet.

It was around seven o'clock when the three newly-acquainted immortals walked into Joe's. The place was lively, but not too crowded. It was mostly regulars, people staying in town for business just for the night, and the occasional crew of traveling friends in a mood for a cold beer before bedding down at one of the city's less auspicious hotels.

Riche led Haresh and Carter to the bar, enjoying the feeling of Carter walking o closely next to him. He didn't think he would like a physically and publically close relationship, but as he experienced it, he found something about it to his liking. Maybe it had taken true near-death experience for him to appreciate the closeness of another person. He even liked Haresh, having found that he wasn't the smug, arrogant, over-dressed person his gait and clothes suggested. Indeed, Haresh had changed out of his light-colored suit and into a blue polo and tan slacks. Richie assumed that was as casual as he would get to see the older immortal, not like Mac, who was almost always dressed casually.

"Heya Richie!" Joe said as he wiped the bar down for the millionth time that night. He set three coasters down and pulled out three mugs, awaiting introductions.

"Hey Joe; I want you to meet Carter Wellan and Haresh Clay, figured I may as well stop in for a cold brew while I was at it."

"Adam and Macleod have got a head start on you already, you'd better catch up." Joe joked with the youngest immortal before turning to the two older ones sitting at the bar. "I hope he hasn't talked you to death, this kid can really run his mouth." Haresh and Carter laughed, while Richie made an indignant sound. When Haresh stopped laughing he leaned forward a bit.

"Nothing compared to what this one," he jerked his thumb at Carter, "put me through. No one ever believes me, but they were worse back then; the only thing to do for fun was _talking_, and even worse, they were _allowed_ to carry swords." It was Joe's turn to laugh now, and it seemed as if even his laughter formed a jaunty blues riff.

"How long are you in Seacouver?" he asked.

"Not sure yet. It's getting harder to wander these days." Carter said.

"Glad to see you're finally catching up after all this time. Say hello to the rest of us." Richie joked.

Carter squeezed his thigh under the bar top, and held it there as he took a drink of his beer. Richie held his gaze cautiously, waiting for the implication of the grip on his leg. When Carter was done with his beer some forty-five minutes later, he got his answer.

"Come on, I want to dance." The blonde said to Richie. The redhead immortal acquired an expression rather like bambi facing down a semi truck.

"No, I don't dance." He insisted as Carter pulled him up from his seat and dragged him off to the dance floor anyway.

"Trust me, by the end of the first month, you'll have learned." Haresh called to him as he picked up his mug for another swig of beer. He was smiling, shaking his head at the comedic relief provided by his pupil, until he saw the serious look that had possessed Joe's features.

"What's the matter, don't approve?" he asked almost wearily. In over a thousand years, he thought the bigotry would have ended, especially towards a practice in place since before Alexander conquered the known world. Joe's response was a short bark of a laugh as he set a handful of shot glasses on the rack to dry.

"If this sticks, it might be the best thing that's happened to that kid in his short but miserable twenty two years of life, so hell no, I approve. But I'll tell you who won't."

"Macleod?" Haresh guessed. Joe nodded.

"The guy's my friend and all, but he's got this God awful need to divide the world up in black and white and to decide who's wrong and who's right; guess which side of the line he falls on. Even if he gets passed the love birds over there, he won't let you get out of town without a challenge – he's still hung up over Graham Ashe, and I can't just give him the watcher chronicle, if he'd accept it as proof of anything." Haresh nodded.

"You seem to know enough about the situation to know that I will not answer the challenge. I retired from the Game after I took Graham's head." The immortal answered. "Now it's my turn to question you."

"Shoot." Joe said as he took Haresh's glass and refilled under the tap.

"Has Macleod truly recovered from the Dark Quickening, or was his visit to the rooming house earlier today a ruse to get Richie to trust him again so that he can lure him into another challenge?" Haresh queried. Joe sighed, took a drink of his own beer, and turned his tired old eyes to the immortal.

"A friend of ours, the one I mentioned earlier – Adam – shoved him into a holy spring in Paris. Macleod climbed out of it about thirty minutes later good as new. He was pretty shaken up by the whole experience, but to his credit, the first thing he did was try to call Richie. But then there are some things he says that makes it seem like he's forgotten about it, or just doesn't think it's important."

"And that doesn't jive with your knowledge of him?" Haresh asked. Joe shook his head in answer.

"No way. I think he's just pretending it never happened, but if that's what he's doing, he needs to quit judging other immortals for the things they've done. Like I said, he's my friend and all, but he'll turn into the biggest hypocrite I've ever known if he doesn't deal with this." Haresh nodded in understanding.

Richie had decided enough was enough, and loped across the bar to his seat. He picked up his beer and took a long drink, and glared at Carter.

"If I wanted a work out," he began after he had quenched his thirst. "I would have returned to the early day of my relationship with Mac and let him beat me to a pulp on the mats." Joe whistled.

"I remember taking bets with Mike, whether you'd show up the next day, or whether you'd throw up in ten minutes or twenty, or how long it would take for someone to call the cops, thinking he was assaulting you." He laughed, and Carter and Haresh joined him.

"Hey, he was assaulting me!" Richie replied indignantly.

"Yeah well, it kept Annie Devlin from killing you!" Joe countered, still laughing. Richie's face darkened at the very mention of her name.

"Don't even mention that psycho bitch. Don't even think about her." He said darkly, taking a rather large gulp of his beer.

"You fought Annie Devlin?" Carter asked.

"Yeah, first ever challenge." Joe said. "He disarmed her, but then Macleod showed up and told her to leave it alone, and Richie to let her go."

"Tell me you didn't. She's psychotic, that one. What did you do to piss her off anyway?" Haresh said, intrigued by the story.

"I did. Me and Mac were walking down the street one day, we stopped to get hotdogs at the stand outside of the British consulate, and these creeps get out of a black car with uzis in their hands. Mac took out two while I took care of one, but I didn't see Annie until she aimed her gun at the ambassador. I grabbed her from behind, but she kept pulling the trigger. One of the bullets ricocheted off the car or something, and hit one of the guys she was with. Turns out he was her husband, Tommy, _and she was pissed_."

"So why'd you let her go?" Carter asked. "She's going to kill you one day, you do realize that?" he added. Richie raised his arms in the arm in a gesture of mixed exasperation and confusion.

"Mac told me she wouldn't and I believed him! What more do you want? I trusted him more than anybody in the world." There was something different to his voice now. It was tinged with pain and darkness, like his eyes.

Carter wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pressing his full weight against the other immortal. He leaned his head on Richie's and secretly took in the smell of his hair and skin.

"C'mon, drink your beer Brat, it'll cheer you up."

"Hop therapy huh?" Richie asked, his mood suddenly shifted back to where it had been just seconds before, burying the hurt and anxiety. But it was still there, still stabbing at his heart, and all three men knew better than to let him fool them into thinking otherwise.

Carter took him home two beers later, leaving Haresh to drive himself back when he was done. There was a silent understanding between student and teacher that Haresh was waiting for something, and that they weren't to worry for his safety or wellbeing while he was gone. That didn't stop Carter though.

Macleod felt the buzz as he entered the bar, and he hoped dearly it was Methos; he couldn't handle seeing Richie and anyone else would just be a nuisance. He changed his mind as soon as he stepped into the almost empty bar. There was one dark skinned man sitting at the polished wooden counter, nursing a beer and talking to Joe contentedly about something thoroughly mundane. Duncan thought it was last night's baseball game. He was too focused on the man to register much else about the conversation though. He'd recognize him anywhere, the dressy style, the charming white smile, the dark eyes elegantly curved into exotic pools of black.

"Haresh Clay." He said, not bothering to add anything to the name. The challenge was implied.

The other immortal turned, and so did the watcher who had until that point been polishing the top of the bar to a high sheen and engaging in conversation with Haresh. His face was placid, but his heart was racing. He didn't want to fight. It had been centuries since he'd taken a head, and he wasn't sure he could defeat Macleod. But as the other immortal strode forward briskly and angrily, he resigned himself to the fact that he would not be presented with a choice; that didn't mean he couldn't make one for himself though.

"I have no quarrel with you, Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod." He said as he took another sip of his beer.

"You had no quarrel with Graham Ashe when you killed him." Duncan retorted. His body was tense with anger and anticipation as he stood rooted to the spot, not a foot away from the man who had murdered his teacher.

"I will not fight you." He said. "Whatever hatred caused me to kill Graham in that way all those years ago is gone, and I have not taken a head since then."

"_Like hell it's gone_." Duncan said disbelievingly. His anger was mounting rapidly, and his knuckled were turning white from the iron grip in which he held hi katana. Haresh narrowed his gaze.

"Do you think you are the only immortal Jim Coltec befriended in his time here? Why shouldn't I persecute you for the heads you took during your dark quickening, or better yet, the one you tried to take, following your own logic? I'll say it again Duncan Macleod – _I will not fight you._" His voice was still calm, like a steady stream cutting through wilderness, but it was strong; he wasn't to be taken lightly.

Duncan was taken aback, but no less angry. Indeed, the exchange had done little, if anything, to assuage his temper. He decided to change his tactic.

"Why are you here?" he demanded, taking a seat at the bar and accepting a beer Joe had so thoughtfully poured during the earlier heated banter.

"Business, I'm here to pick up a piece of Native American sculpture for my collection, I plan to loan it out to the American History exhibit at the Museum of Natural History, along with some seventeenth century china order from the very first mass-produced catalogue, just in time for the summer rush."

"Is that your business now? Loaning out artifacts to museums?" Mac asked. Haresh nodded.

"I've also written a number of books on Art History. The one I'm currently working on focuses on the early Americas, hence the new piece for my collection. I like to study up close and uninhibited by museum curators."

"Biggest bureaucrats outside of the government." Duncan finished for him. Haresh smiled and raised his glass.

"I'll drink to that sentiment Duncan Macleod. It's almost as if they think they were there when it all happened." Haresh joked.

"This coming from the man who writes historical reference books in his spare time?" Joe chimed in. "And another man who taught an advanced college history class as a _favor_?"

"That's different." Mac argued. "We were there."

The three men laughed, and for a moment it was possible to forget what the original circumstance of their meeting had been. The more of his glass Duncan drank, the more he calmed down. He eventual got the point where he realized that Haresh wasn't such a bad guy. After all, here he was having a beer and talking about the weekend's scheduled heavyweight boxing match over a cold brew and salted peanuts. How could someone so average, be so malevolent?

Then again, Duncan argued, Haresh Clay wasn't average at all. This could be a ruse to gain his trust and take his head when he turned his attention away. But weren't their entire lives ruses to answer questions posed by authorities and employers and unaware mortals? Was there anything genuine in their lives anymore after they died, apart from the Game?

The Game. The game that was not. The easily offered excuse used to wash blood from an immortal's hands.

'_It's what you were doing when you tried to take Richie's head.'_ A nasty voice in the back of his head sneered at him._ 'It's what you wanted when you tried to kill Methos on holy ground.'_

'_That was different" _he told himself._ 'I didn't have a choice!'_

'_Did you?' _And then it was gone. Silent. Sleeping. Lurking.

Joe had gone into the store room to pull out another keg, leaving the two immortals alone. As soon as he was sure the watcher was out of earshot, he turned to Haresh.

"Why won't you accept the challenge?" he asked. Haresh turned to look him in the eyes.

"In the interest of my pupil and yours. I will leave it at that. I'm not sure what it would take for me to enter a challenge after all these centuries, and a large part of me is afraid to find out." He finished his beer and stood up. He donned his light summer jacket, and began to walk across the bar towards the door.

"Good night Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod." The older immortal called over his shoulder.

With that he left, leaving the Highlander to contemplate the events of the day. It had surely been a long one, full of hope and heartbreak. He had hoped dearly that Richie had returned to town to set things right between them, and his heart had broken when Richie insisted that he had nothing to set right. But as he stared into the pale golden ale in front of him, Duncan wasn't so sure that his pupil had been wrong, as he had been this morning. Maybe it was really all on him.


	3. Money No Object

Money No Object

"Morning Love." Carter greeted Richie as he walked past him and into the living room of his apartment.

It was a short-term living arrangement, just the three of them – Carter, Richie, and Haresh. It was originally a three bedroom apartment, but one of the bedrooms had been converted into Haresh's Study, so that he could continue his current work. He was easily vexed these days, citing that the work was slow-going. Carter and Richie made sure to keep the volume down and the small kitchen stocked with coffee.

"Good morning!" Richie replied cheerfully.

The younger immortal strode across the large main room to the kitchen table and leaned down for a kiss. He pulled back smiling, and crossed the room again to rummage through the kitchen cabinets for cereal.

"You're in an even better mood than usual; might I ask what the occasion is?" Carter asked him, watching his lover move to a silent rhythm as he poured milk over dry corn flakes and held a spoon between his lips.

"Nothing too big, just giving Amanda a lift to the bank." He answered as he sat across from Carter at the table. The blonde immortal's eyes narrowed.

"Who the bloody hell is Amanda?" most of his jealousy and concern was false, and Richie didn't notice the part that wasn't.

"Amanda is Mac's on-and-off again girlfriend, and in general a troublemaker." Richie answered through a mouthful of cornflakes.

"And are they on or off?" Carter asked, less successful in checking his tone this time around.

"Relax!" Richie told him, "They're most definitely _on_, and I am _so_ not interested in her."

"Then why are you so eager to go?" Carter countered, not really upset, just feeling a little contrary.

"Because she can put in a good word for me with Mac, if she is so inclined, which she will be if I help her out." Carter rolled his eyes at himself. Of course, that was it. Richie wanted to smooth things over with his teacher before formally introducing them as – what did people say now – an item? Yes that was the phrase.

Carter landed a chaste kiss on the younger immortals lips, but he managed to take in the flavor of cornflakes and milk before he pulled away. He looked at him apologetically and flashed him one of his signature brilliant smiles.

"Can you blame me? You're lucky I don't tie you to the bed. Women today, they just cannot be trusted." He joked.

"Too true, especially Amanda, but she's even worse if you stand her up, which is why I have to get going." He said as he retreated from the table by walking backwards into the kitchen. He deposited his bowl in the sink, and donned his jacket.

"In that case, I give you permission to chauffer a mentally unstable female immortal, just be back for lunch." Carter said with his lips set in a smile as he went back to reading his newspaper.

Richie saluted him as he walked out the front door of their apartment, and Carter dismissed him with a luxurious wave of his hand. He had absolute faith that Richie would come back and probably on time, but the nagging voice at the back of his head warned him against it.

_Shut up_, he told it, and continued taking in a dull and dreary article on the rising price of ink pens and barbecue sauce, completely unaware as to how such news was important and how the two items were related. He shook his head and sighed.

"Amanda," Richie began after giving the alley the once-over. "What's wrong with a regular bank?"

"Because my dear boy, regular banks are filled with sad little men that insist on knowing all the dreary details of my overseas money transfer." She walked past him towards the glass front door of the grungy bank.

"Amanda, that's called fraud." Richie deadpanned.

"No Richie, it's called CYA – cover your assets. Are you going to come in with me?" She asked him in her signature innocent tone.

"Oh no, I think I'll just wait by my bike." Richie answered.

Amanda flashed him a brilliant Cheshire cat grin, and left him standing by the motorcycle. Richie tried not to stare or look out of place in such a miserable part of town. He didn't find it too difficult while drawing on his childhood memories of his own neighborhood. When the door of the bank opened again, he expected to see Amanda, walking out with a self-satisfied grin on her face and practically tipsy with the thrill of a heist well-done.

Instead, he saw the barrel of an automatic gun being waved around by an immortal. He did see Amanda, but she was walking behind the guy, grasping his hand and allowing him to lead her to a grimy Chevrolet van parked across the street.

He jumped on his bike and took off after them, not sure whether Amanda was in danger or not. Part of him screamed that this was Amanda he was dealing with, and that she never went anywhere she didn't want to go. Then again, following the same trail of logic, Amanda never did anything that didn't somehow involve danger and criminality.

Richie's heart skipped a beat as the driver of the van edged over the center line and forced him onto the shoulder. He desperately tried to make eye contact with Amanda, but the male driver was in the way, blocking any view of the lithe female immortal. He didn't see the cement jersey wall blocking off the flooded ditch until it was ten feet under him.

Richie hit the water with a harsh impact that popped his helmet clear off his head. He looked around, trying to see if anyone was going to stop, namely the _asshole _in the van. No one did, and his mood worsened in leaps and bounds as he attempted to wade out of the water and onto the bank. It proved too wet, too muddy, and far too steep to climb up, so he ended up having to wade back across the overgrown puddle to the less inclined area of the ditch.

When he finally reached the road, sopping wet and thoroughly pissed off, he was relieved to see Amanda and the same man from the bank driving toward him in a vintage car. He waved his arms and called out, sure that the driver was simply distracted and hadn't noticed him yet. But then the car _sped up_.

Richie dived out of the way, in the only direction available to him. He hit the water again, with less impact this time, and cursed loudly and profusely. Today was off to a shitty start, and he had been in _such _a great mood.

Haresh and Carter caught the stench of acrid and stale water before they felt the buzz. When Richie walked in dripping from head to toe and looking as if he wanted to kill something, Haresh couldn't decide whether to flee or laugh hysterically. He settled for hanging back and watching as Carter rushed to his boyfriend, fluttering with concern.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" the blonde demanded. "Did Amanda do this to you?"

"No, her friend did." Richie replied through clenched teeth as he peeled his clothes off. He hopped on one foot to the bathroom as he tried to get his ruined jeans off, with Carter trailing right behind him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Richie began as he tried and failed to turn the shower faucet on with fingers still numb from the damp cold of the drainage ditch, "she ran off with some _lunatic_ who ran me off the road _twice_!"

"What should we do?" Carter asked as he too began to disrobe. He turned the water on for Richie after his red-haired lover kicked the tile wall in frustration with enough force that he broke several of his toes.

"_Hell if I know!_" Richie replied, his teeth chattering as he stepped under the scorching hot spray. Carter joined him and turned him around to put his back in the way of the cascade of water.

"What would you like me to do?" Carter asked more softly. He held Richie by the frigidly cold skin of his arms, which were pimpled with gooseflesh.

"I'm f_reezing_." Was all the younger immortal could bare to say. "And my bike is totaled and he broke all of the ribs on the right side of my chest." He sounded like distraught child, on the verge of tears; except that these looming tears were the spawn of anger more than sadness. Richie pushed them away, down to the cavern of all his other suppressed emotions, and focused on breathing in the steam rising from the water.

"I know." Carter answered gently as he ran a steaming hot washcloth over his lover's chest and back. "Do you know what kind of car it was?"

"Vintage." Richie replied "Like 20s or 30s vintage, definitely pre-world war II."

"Do you want to call Mac, or should I?" Carter asked, his voice still gentle and barely above a whisper as he ran the cloth over Richie's trembling arms.

"No, I'll just show up. It might be better if you didn't come-" he began to say, but Carter cut him off with a kiss.

"The last time I let you leave here alone you got run over by a friend of a friend. Besides, I want to meet this Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod."

Richie sighed. He was finally getting warm. He could _almost_ feel his fingers again, and his teeth had just stopped chattering. He leaned back into his lover's body, and let the hot spray hit him as it cascaded down to the drain in the bottom of the shower stall.

The day still sucked, but it was better than it had been twenty minutes ago. He liked having someone to come home to; someone to care about him even though every physical pain would pass shortly. He hadn't realized that he missed being cared for. But a part of him felt sad, because he knew that Mac had never cared for him like that. Mac wasn't the nurturing kind. He was protective, sure, but not of him.

"Hey Richie." Duncan said, letting his surprise at seeing his former pupil show as he stepped back to allow his visitors to cross the threshold. "What's the occasion?"

"Amanda ran off with some guy she met while inside the bank, and the son of a bitch ran me over…twice."

"We thought you might know of him, he was immortal, and he drove a vintage car form the 20s or 30s." Carter added.

"Richie, have a look at the reference book over there, the one with the red cover and spine and see if the cars in there." Then Duncan asked, "Who's your friend?"

"Carter Wellan." The blonde immortal answered.

Duncan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the name. He suddenly realized why the boy seemed familiar, and his mind was instantly drawn back to the conversation he'd had with Haresh a month earlier.

"_In the interest of my pupil and yours."_

Mac's reverie was interrupted by Richie, calling to them from the sofa. He had the book in his hands, and he had it opened to the page devoted to the 1924 Packard. His heart sank into his feet; that wasn't good.

"This is the one." Richie said.

"You're sure?" Mac asked him as he hopped over the back of the couch to sit beside the redhead.

"Of course he's sure!" Carter interjected, "He got a real close look at that grill!"

"What do you think he wants with Amanda?" Richie asked, his concern evident. Carter felt a pang of jealousy resound in his chest, but quashed it.

"What do immortals usually want with other immortals?" Duncan asked. Carter bristled; there wasn't any need to be condescending. He liked Duncan Macleod less and less by the minute.

"She didn't look like she was about to get into a fight with him Mac. It was like they were friends, I'm serious." Richie argued.

"If this guy had a 24 Packard there can't be that many places he could have gotten one from of could have had it worked on at, let's get the phone book out." Carter suggested.

"No need, there's only one vintage auto mechanic in this town – Sam's garage on the way out of town on the side of the highway." Richie said.

"C'mon then, let's get Amanda out of whatever trouble she's wriggled her way into." Mac said as he grabbed his coat.

With that the three immortals were out the door, on the way to a shabby, run-down warehouse on the outskirts of town. They managed to get an address out of the crotchety old man working there, and Carter found that he was almost enjoying himself. The way Richie and Mac played off each other made him wonder if they really had ever been enemies.

They pulled up to the address the mechanic had given them midway through the afternoon. Duncan was careful to park the car behind a dense patch of fur trees, and the three immortals slipped out of the vehicle silently. Duncan was a little confused by how closely Carter and Richie stood together, but he shoved it to the back burner of his mind; he needed to focus on finding Amanda.

The house on the lot was essentially a log cabin, but a far grander one than any of them had ever seen classified as such. There was a full deck on the second story, an outdoor hot tub, and large glass windows poking holes through the rich wooden walls of the house. And parked just to the left of the hulking wooden frame was a dark blue 24 Packard.

"Is that the one?" Mac whispered to Richie.

"Oh yeah," the youngest immortal answered. "That's the one." He answered as the three immortals sprinted around the car and to the front door of the house.

"Just checking." Duncan said, and then added, "It didn't leave much of an impression."

Carter couldn't stifle a small chuckled at the joke, and Richie glowered good-naturedly from the other side of the concrete front steps.

"Haha, very funny Mac." He answered.

They stormed the house quickly, waiting for the immortal source of the buzz o show himself. But the foyer was empty, and so was the main hall. Mac led the party around a corner and there they found their target.

The man had vibrant eyes painted dark brown and short hair a few shades closer to black than brown. He wore a white button down shirt not quite-closed at the top, and a Cheshire cat grin that could put Amanda's to shame.

"Okay buddy," Richie began, holding the immortal at the end of his rapier, "Where is she?"

Duncan couldn't hide the surprise and mounting recognition plastered to his features however. It was clear from the expression of the unknown immortal that Mac was in fact the only one of them that he recognized.

"Cory." He said simply, and lowered his sword steadily. Carter followed his lead, and Richie did the same, although very grudgingly and much more slowly.

Just then Amanda came around the corner, holding a glass of champagne in her hand and looking quite unharmed. Indeed, she looked almost exuberant, Carter thought.

"Macleod?" She asked. Cory turned to her, momentarily ignoring the other three immortals who had just invaded his home.

"Serial monogamist Amanda? Unless I'm seeing double, and I don't think I am, I count three of them."

Richie smacked the glass of champagne from his hand. Cory turned his attention back to the red-haired immortal, then to his shattered glass, and then back to those volatile blue eyes. Carter moved to stand behind Richie, and he placed a hand on the other immortal's shoulder. Duncan's earlier confusion returned in full force now, and once again he tried to suppress it; now wasn't the time.

"Now I recognize you!" Cory said as he took a step closer to Richie. Carter's sword was up before Mac even realized the blonde had moved his hand. "You know something? You look a lot different flying over the hood of a car." Richie humored him with a contrived laugh before he spoke.

"How would you like to go flying _through a wall_?" he deadpanned.

"He didn't mean anything by it Richie." Amanda interjected, but on whose part none of them could tell. Carter thought she was doing it more to help Cory than Richie however, and the thought made him like her a little more, and it brought a tiny inner smile of pride to his features. "Did you Cory?" she added, making it obvious which of them she was trying to help.

"Of course not." Cory said as he adopted a smile that Richie guessed was meant to convey innocence. "I don't know him well enough to dislike him yet." And they were off again.

"Why I oughta-" Duncan cut Richie off.

"Easy Richie!" he said.

"Hey Kid, what'd the big deal? You're an immortal! It's all in fun!" Cory asked. Carter felt the floorboards holding his anger creak and give way.

"Fun?" he demanded of the younger immortal. "Fun? You ran him over not once, _but twice_! How the _bloody hell_ is that fun for anyone but _you_? What kind of _sick, demented, bastard_ runs people off the road? You're a bloody imbecile you Tutbury* throwback!"

Cory's feature animated into a fiery mask of medieval anger. His lips formed words tainted with a long-forgotten accent that not even Duncan nor Amanda had heard issue from his lips before.

"No one asked your opinion you blithering Sax! Why don't you just take your arse back to Kingston**!"

"Belt up*** you old biddy****!" Carter replied.

"Go bunk up***** your rent-boy." Cory answered him angrily.

Now that, Duncan understood perfectly clearly, and so did Amanda. Perhaps fortunately, Richie was the only one who had absolutely no idea what had just been said of him. Carter had his sword pressed to Cory's throat, Amanda was standing stock-still but looked rather shocked, and Duncan kept turning his head back and forth between Carter and Richie, sputtering.

"You don't talk about Richie like that Cory! I mean it!" Amanda said. Duncan had finally regained the ability to speak during her verbal diversion from the feud.

"That was completely uncalled for Cory; Richie's not like that." Richie felt his heart pounding out a rhythm he wasn't sure he could move to. What the hell was he supposed to do now? If ever there was a chance to come out to Macleod with witnesses, it was now. Then again, maybe he didn't want anyone to witness this; maybe it was the worst time ever to come out. In the end, Carter made the decision for him.

"Actually Duncan, he is _like that_, whatever the bloody hell you mean by _that_." Duncan momentarily relapsed into an episode of sputtering. He kept moving his eyes from Richie, looking for denial, and then to Carter, searching for a spark of humor in his grey eyes.

"We'd planned to tell you another way, later-"

"Much later." Richie interrupted Carter.

"-but it didn't quite turn out that way." Carter jabbed the tip of his sword into Cory's chest meaningfully.

Richie dared to look up into his former teacher's eyes, and he regretted it. He didn't see what he searched for in the Highlander's dark eyes. There was no acceptance, no smile, no laughter, no happiness; just confusion.

"Let's just go." Richie said. His voice was tearful as he stormed out of the log cabin. He brushed past Duncan, who tried to grab his arm to stop him, but the younger immortal spun to the side and evaded his grip.

"Richie!" Mac called after him.

But it was Carter who followed him out into the night, shooting Duncan a lethal glare over his shoulder as he went.

"Well," Cory said. "That was interesting."

Even Amanda couldn't resist the urge to glare at him. As soon as Macleod had left roughly a hour later, she began to viciously pummel the bank robber with her fists. Richie was like a brother to her, and she wouldn't stand to let anyone call him a rent-boy, not in her presence. When she felt that Cory had been sufficiently thrashed, she turned around and followed Macleod out to the car.

Richie sat on the coach quietly, staring darkly at the wall in front of him. His eyes burned, and his throat was tight. He wasn't sure if it was his pride or his fear keeping the tears at bay, but he didn't honestly care as long one solution or the other worked. He didn't want to cry, not over this, not ever.

'_Like a rejected school girl'_ he thought darkly. _'Pathetic.'_

He felt Carter settle beside him on the coach. He relished in the comforting weight of the other immortal's arm around him, but at the same time he wanted to shy away. He was emotional, and no one was supposed to see him when he was emotional.

"I don't know what I was expecting." He began, but his voice came out warped from the tightness in his life.

"You want him to accept you; that's perfectly normal." Carter told him softly as he rubbed patterns into the younger immortals back.

"There is nothing normal about us!" Richie said exasperatedly. "We're two gay immortals, how in the hell is that normal?" he continued. He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his lips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that-" he began his hasty but sincere apology. Carter cut him off with a finger to the lips.

"It's alright Love, we all have our down days, yours just seem to travel in packs." The blonde said. "And as for your question – we're two people in love; that's as normal as you can possibly get."

Richie beamed at him, his depression over Duncan's reaction forgotten for the time being. He leaned in, letting the other immortal hold him as they sat on the couch.

"By the way," Carter began, "I think I'm coming to like Amanda." Richie laughed.

"She's cool, but the more time I send with her the closer I am to falling back into my old habits, and that's not a place I want to go."

"Thieving didn't suit you?" Carter asked jokingly.

"Oh it suited me - quick, easy, money – but it didn't suit my health. I was about ten pounds and one more picked lock away from a very early grave when Mac and Tessa took me in."

"Forgive me, but isn't it a terribly irony that your first death came at the hands of a thief, after you yourself had stopped being one?" Haresh asked from the kitchen.

Both immortals turned around, startled. They hadn't known the older immortal was home, much less in the same room. Richie blushed a tiny bit, but quickly forced the flush away from his cheeks. Neither of his roommates failed to notice however, but they let him think they that they were oblivious.

Haresh allowed a smile to spread over his features as he looked at the two comparatively young immortals sitting on the couch. He had a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand, and he held a large stack of papers in the other. The papers were held together by a large alligator clip, and both of the younger men eyes the pages suspiciously.

"Is that the book?" Carter asked his teacher.

"Yes, the first draft of it anyway. I'll drop it off at the post office tomorrow and wait for Shaneika to send it back to me with her suggestions."

"Should we celebrate?" Richie asked tentatively.

"Oh yes – 700 pages in less than two months – I need a beer. But it will have to wait until tomorrow I am afraid."

"You aren't the only one old man." Carter said, only half in-jest. "Wait until you hear about our day." He added.

The oldest immortal in residence walked around the couch to sit in the armchair, and propped his feet up.

"I am all ears boys."

And then they were off, talking and drinking and laughing. Richie was dimly reminded of his life with Tessa and Mac back in the antiques store and on the barge. He smiled into his glass as he took a swig of his cheap bottles beer.

Things were finally looking up.

* According to the Highlander Wiki page for Cory, he's from Tutbury, England

** According to the same source, Carter is from Kingston-Upon-Thames (i.e. Kingston). Judging from the time period he could be of either Norman or Saxon descent, but Wellan actually comes from Whelan, which is Irish, so I'm not sure what to do…

*** _Belt Up_ – shut up, be quiet, etc.

**** _Old Biddy_ – old woman, little old lady, etc.

***** _Bunk up_ – as a verb it means to have sexual intercourse, but it's more common as a noun


	4. Haunted

Haunted

Swords clashed violently and made music in the air as Carter and Richie sparred in the dojo. Their practices were long and exhausting, even for the spectators. Haresh would watch them usually, now that he had free time on his hands while his editor looked over the first draft of his new book on Ancient Native American art. The ancient immortal would offer advice and tips, as well as the occasional bit of encouragement, or the much more frequent jest at the expense of one of the younger immortals. Adam Pierson would occasionally sit in on a practice session too, but more often than not their only visiting watcher was Joe Dawson.

"Keep you tip up Carter! If he really wanted you dead you would have no chance to guard, block, or parry with your sword so misguided." Haresh said from his perch on one of the weight benches. Then he turned his attention to the smirking red-haired immortal.

"And you, Richie! Is your wrist broken? Otherwise, I can't see why the hell it's so damn limp! Really, how on earth did either of you survive this long?"

"We never had to fight you." They answered in unison. Haresh scoffed.

"Honestly Haresh, when was the last time you actually trained?" Carter asked challengingly.

"That is irrelevant." Haresh quashed the mutiny before it had a chance to start. "Now do it again, faster this time."

Haresh had an appointment with a local art dealer roughly an hour later, and Carter accompanied him to the meeting. They bade Richie a brief farewell, and left him to train by himself until he felt like leaving. He had been hard at work practicing his katana kata he had picked up from Mac when he heard the door open and close. He turned around, anxious to see who it was.

He saw a beautiful brunette woman standing a few feet away from him. She wore a deep cut shirt and a short skirt, and her skin was slightly tanned and clear. Richie felt something pulling him to her, but he resisted it. He had Carter, he told himself firmly, and she wasn't that good-looking anyway. Still the tugging persisted.

"Hey." He said in greeting.

"You're pretty good." She said to him.

'_Bullshit._' Richie thought. He sucked at katana kata, and quite frankly every other kata Mac had ever seen fit to teach him.

"Thanks." He said anyway. "It looks pretty stupid unless you picture the other guy." He continued. Actually, it looked stupid whether you pictured the other guy or not. She flirted uselessly before she offered her name and her hand to shake.

"I'm Jenifer Hill."

"Richie Ryan." He answered, and shook her hand firmly. He thought that if he seemed more professional, she might lay off a bit.

"I'm here to see Duncan Macleod." She explained.

"Lucky man." Richie had no idea why he'd said that. It was as if it had been someone else talking instead of him. What had happened to _not flirting_ with her?

He gave her a lift up to the living area of the Dojo, and immediately wanted to leave. He felt like that was rude though, and it might get him back into Mac's bad graces. Then again, it wasn't as if he was in Mac's good graces either. Their relationship seemed to have hit a firewall after the conversation (read: humiliating rejection) at Cory's cabin a few weeks ago.

"Look who I found." He said after Mac had hung up the phone.

The highlander turned around, at first very anxious as to who Richie might have brought up to see him. But then he did a double take. It was Jen, Alec's beautiful wife. He rose from his seat on the couch and embraced his visitor before pulling back to greet her.

"Jenifer! Hi! It's been…two years!" then he looked around, noticing that something was missing. "Where's Alec?" he asked her.

Jenifer looked down at the floor and studied her shoes before she pulled her face back up to and answered the question in a very choked whisper.

"Gone." Mac's happy expression melted.

"I'm so sorry." He said. "When?" he queried softly as he embraced her once more, this time placing a reassuring hand on her back.

"Last Summer; after a hundred and ten years, he finally found Gerard Kragan."

Richie saw Duncan's features darken immensely at the sound of the name that slipped from Jenifer's lips. He himself felt his fingers itching to grasp a cigarette. That was new…

Richie really didn't want to stay at Joe's and babysit Jenifer while Mac drove all night to San Francisco. The pull was getting stronger, and the only way he could cope at all was to chain smoke Marlboro reds. He welcomed the reprieve Jenifer's trip to the bathroom offered, and he was even happier for the distraction Joe provided him when he came over to talk.

"You smoking now?" the old man asked him.

"Hey Joe, listen, I need some advice." Richie said hurriedly, ignoring the query about the cigarette.

"Tell me about it," he friend replied. "You and Alec Hill's wife?"

"It's not what you think." Richie began to explain. "Mac asked me to take care of her tonight while he goes to San Francisco."

"Why's he in Frisco?"

"He's going to whack the son of a bitch that killed husband."

Joe's face darkened, and his features took on a very hard attribute. He beckoned Richie over to the bar and led him to it. He quickly motioned for two shots of tequila, and offered both glasses to the young immortal before he explained himself.

"Richie," he began gently. "You're the son of a bitch who killed her husband." Richie's mind reeled, trying to process that information.

"There's no way, I never even met the guy!" Joe raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah? How about San Francisco, late July, last year."

Richie let the date sink in, and then he suddenly remembered the exact day Joe had to be talking about. His bike had broken down and he's pulled over into the nearest parking lot. Then a car had pulled up with an angry driver behind the wheel, and they'd argued. Then the man, handsome and brunette, had pulled out a US Calvary saber form his passenger seat.

"It was live or die Joe." He tried to explain. "I didn't even know his name. I certainly didn't know that he had a wife!" he said under his breath.

"Everyone leaves someone behind Richie." Joe told him as he poured the immortal anther shot of tequila.

Then Jenifer was there, trying to coax him into taking her home. Richie wanted to run away, he felt as if she were a toxic fume. He felt so guilty, so sad, and so angry at himself for even talking to her. He hastily offered an excuse, and left her at the bar with Joe.

He was the worse for wear when he arrived home. Carter asked him what was wrong. Haresh asked him if he felt unwell. The terrible truth was that Richie was not alright, and he felt terribly unwell, and the worst thing about the whole situation as that he was that his emotions were raging to be free, for him to spill everything, but he couldn't.

Richie never went to bed that night. He stayed on the couch, promised Carter he would eventually come join him in their bedroom. He watched his lover retreat with sweetly concerned eyes, and he hated himself. He wasn't sure if it was for lying to Carter, or for murdering Alec Hill. He admitted to himself that it was a lot of both as he walked to the dojo at around three in the morning.

He hadn't slept. All he saw when he closed his eyes was Alec Hill coming at him with his sword brandished in anger, and Jenifer so eager and willing to let him into her bed. He wanted to slice his own throat. And then Duncan came in, and it all got infinitely worse from there.

Richie stood up, his heart pounding in his ears and his tongue too sluggish and thick to form words. He was terrified. For the first time in his life, mortal or immortal, he was truly guilt-ridden.

"Hey Mac, I need to tell you something." He said as his teacher strode past him and towards the elevator.

"Can it wait until after I've had a shower Richie?" the highlander asked.

"No." Richie said as firmly as he could manage. "It can't wait."

"Where's Jenifer?" Mac asked him.

"Sleeping on your couch, but that's not what I have to tell you." He said. The highlander looked at him expectantly.

"Well?" he asked. Richie took a deep breath. He wondered if it would be his last.

"Kragan didn't kill Alec Hill." He began. "I did. I didn't know until last night when Joe told me. We met outside Kragan Studios last summer. My broke had quit on me and I was trying to fix it. He pulled in and he was in a hurry. I told him to find another way in, because that bike wasn't moving. He grabbed his sword and we fought." Mac was angry. He could tell. The large man as practically shaking with anger.

"You could have walked away! You killed him over nothing!" Mac said.

"That's not true Mac." Richie said, He found a tiny bit of anger sinking into him now, quelling the anxiety. "It was a fair fight and I won. What have you been teaching me for if you didn't expect me to answer a challenge and win? What did you want me to do, let him kill me?"

Mac remained silent.

"After all of you experience, why don't you tell me what to do? You obviously thin you can handle anything and everything better than I can, so why don't you just tell me what I should have done?" he asked him angrily. "You know what? I'm just gonna tell her the truth." Richie turned ton walk toward the lift, but Mac's voice halted him.

"No you won't."

"Maybe she'll understand."

"She's not gonna understand! You killed her husband!"

"I KNOW!" Richie finally couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand another reminder of what he'd done. He couldn't stand anymore judgment, but he knew it wasn't over. It would _never_ be over.

"I'm going to let her think that the man who killed her husband is dead, and you-" He turned to Richie, "Are going to leave town."

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Richie felt dead inside as he walked back to the apartment much later that night. He'd called Amanda a few hours before, telling her goodbye. He'd called Joe too, but he couldn't risk talking to Carter. He couldn't bare telling Carter goodbye. His heart was sore and weary as he entered the apartment through the far window.

The lights were all switched off, and he gave a sigh of relief. His beaten heart jerked though as the living room was flooded with light. He dropped to the floor and rolled behind the couch, but the damage was already done.

"Where the bloody hell have you been all day?" Carter demanded. "What is wrong with you?" the blonde immortal asked as he strode very close to Richie and took his face in his hands. He forced Richie to turn his eyes up, to look at his face as he continued.

"Amanda called and said there was something wrong with you, that you were leaving! What are you thinking?" he paused here to breathe deeply. "Why won't you talk to me damn it?" this last part was tearful and choked. Richie wished desperately he could avoid those tear-stained eyes as he answered, but Carter held his face in a firm grip.

"A woman came to town to see Mac, to get him to kill the man she thought killed her husband." Carter nodded when Richie paused here, egging him on. "But she was wrong. I Killed her husband, last summer, and she was flirting with me the whole time we were at the bar last night. I told Mac, and he's…I really think he hates me now Carter. I killed his friend. He told me to leave town." His voice dided after that, And Carter looked at him, expecting more with this kind of reaction.

When nothing else came, he issued a short, barking laugh. Richie looked at him, his eyes now overflowing with tears, confused.

"This isn't funny! I'm sorry! I didn't-" Carter shut him up with a long, bruising kiss. When he pulled away for air, Carter tipped Richie's chin up. Once he had finally caught his breath, he opened his mouth to speak.

"I was terrified that you had slept with her, for a second there, but that's forgivable. I thought Mac had challenged you, when Amanda called me, and that you were fleeing town because of him. I was about to get my sword and challenge him myself." He shook his head. "So, just to clarify, you're upset because you killed an immortal who happened to be a friend of Mac's, and whose widow is trying to get you in her pants?"

"You make it sound like it's nothing!" Richie said angrily.

"The only thing I can be upset with you for is not telling me!" Carter said, "And trying to leave without saying goodbye to me! Don't you think that you mean more to me than that? Didn't you think that I would miss you?" he demanded, not angry, just wanting an answer. Richie sighed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think. I was just really, really…" he trailed off, not sure what to say.

"You were scared." Carter finished for him. "You're still scared, but you're _staying_, you understand?" Carter asked him. Richie nodded slowly.

"But Mac-"

"He gave up any jurisdiction over your actions when he made an ass of himself at the Cabin. You'll leave when you're good and ready to, and not because some bimbo widow strolls into Mac's dojo wanting a hit-job." The blonde said firmly.

"You're not mad?" Richie asked him, stunned.

"No." Carter said as a smile broke out on his face. "I'm tired, and I'm sick from worry, and I missed you last night. Now come on; we'll get cleaned up, and we'll crawl in bed, and we'll put this all behind us." Richie smiled, feeling a dark curtain lift from around him for the first time since last night, when Joe had clued him in.

"I'd really like that." He said.

Carter was toweling off when he heard the faint sound of voices from the main room containing the kitchen and living room. He wasn't concerned, because he hadn't felt a fresh buzz; it wasn't an immortal. He continued drying off and pulled a pair of flannel pants and a loose long-sleeved shirt.

He was about crawl into bed and let Richie or Haresh deal with their visitor, when he noticed the sharp increase in volume from one of the voices. It was a woman, and she was obviously very angry.

"You bastard! You killed my husband!" the woman shrieked.

Without sparing thought to the matter, Carter leapt across the bedroom to the doorway with his rapier in hand. He rounded the corner and saw a pretty brunette woman standing in the living room with Richie. Her face was flushed with anger, and her eyes were practically narrowed to slits.

"How could you even talk to me?" she demanded.

"I didn't know I killed him when I met you." Richie said, forcing himself to keep his voice at a calm level. "I never meant to hurt you!"

"You sick son of a bitch!" she yelled at him.

Then, without another word, she stormed out of the apartment. She slammed the door behind with such force that the impact reverberated through every wall in the apartment. Both immortals could hear the clicking of her heels quite clearly as she left the building.

When the sound had faded, Carter entered the main room completely. He laid his sword on the coffee table, and approached his lover from behind. Gently, he placed his hands on Richie's shoulders, and squeezed. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, comforting, but it succeeded only minimally.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Richie asked no one in particular.

"You're not a bad person Richie; you couldn't let her go on believing that her husband had been avenged when he really hadn't. You had to tell her the truth. If that doesn't prove to you that you're not evil, I don't know what will." Carter answered as he pulled the other immortal towards the couch.

They sat down and waited for Haresh to join them. When the knock on the door came approximately two hours later, they were sure it was him, even though neither of them felt the buzz. They dismissed it as a tolerance for Haresh, or distractions brought on from earlier evens of the day.

Richie strode across the apartment to the door and Carter went into their bedroom for a blanket to use while they stayed on the couch. The redhead certainly hadn't expected to see Jen again. He let her in, hoping that she was here to say good bye and reconcile; maybe Macleod had talked to her. At that thought, a tiny glimmering beacon of hope sparked into life in Richie's chest, that maybe he could regain the friendship he'd lost with Mac.

"I've finally figured out what I need to do to put this behind me." Jen said. She clasped her hands slightly to keep them from shaking. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and there was a dark edge to it that Richie's couldn't quite place.

"That's great." He said, trying his very best to be encouraging.

But then he saw Jen take the sleek black firearm out from behind her back. His eyes widened, and he tried to call for Carter. But before he could make any sound at all, Jen had pulled the trigger. Richie fell to the floor with a loud enough noise to draw the attention of the downstairs neighbors, even if the sound of the gunshot hadn't done that already.

Carter an into the room just in time to witness Jen take Richie's sword in her hand and pull the trigger once more. He watched the second bullet rock his lover's body in tremors until the light left his eyes.

The blonde was furious, too furious to consider the two buzzes he felt fast approaching from the hallway. He rushed across the room and skidded to a halt just in time for his sword to dig into the pale flesh of Jen's throat. She gasped in shock, but she didn't drop Richie's sword.

They were both startled by the sound of the door being kicked open, and the arrival of Haresh and Duncan. The Highlander lowered his, but Haresh kept his piece of Damascus steel trained on Jenifer Hill's chest as he circled around to stand by Carter.

"Put it down Jen, don't do this." Duncan pleaded with her. "Please out it down!"

"Don't try to stop me." She said shakily.

"Richie didn't mean to hurt you." Duncan said as he dared take another step towards her. "He's not like that." He added.

"He killed Alec." She argued, sounding very much like a pathetic distraught child to Carter's ears.

"And I'll kill you if you don't drop that sword." He said, with voice like frozen venom.

Duncan shot the blonde a glare, a warning look that he supposed was meant to intimidate. Carter returned it with full force, and then turned his gaze back to the woman standing over Richie's body with his sword in her hands. He dug the tip of his sword into her neck, just a tiny bit, for emphasis, to remind her that his threat was very real.

"And killing him won't bring Alec back." The highlander argued. "If any part of Alec still lives, it's inside Richie! It's what Alec believed and it's what you wanted to believe!" he added hastily.

"You don't understand." She said. "Alec's here. He needs me to do it so he can rest in peace."

"Killing doesn't bring peace." Haresh interrupted her. His voice was cold and hard like sharpened rocks. "When you kill, it haunts you forever. Maybe you think that killing Richie will bring you peace, absolve your want for him, but it won't." he continued. "You have a choice, but Richie didn't. Whether you accept it or not, Alec Hill issued a challenge and lost; it's hardly Richie's fault that your husband let his anger get the better of him."

"You're not helping here!" Duncan hissed at him.

"I don't give a damn about your friend Duncan Macleod." Haresh answered. "I care about Richie continuing to live, with Alec Hill haunting him, just as Graham Ashe haunts me." He turned back to the Jen, and lowered his sword.

"Get out. Leave and move on. That is the only way you will find peace, believe me. I can't count on one hand the number of my loved ones still breathing, and all the rest I have watched die; _I know._"

The rapier fell to the ground with a horrendously loud clang of metal on wood. Jen shakily retreated from the apartment, hot tears flowing down her cheeks and smearing her make-up. Haresh accompanied her out, and left Carter and Duncan staring down at Richie's body.

Duncan stood to go, but Carter stopped him by grabbing his arm. The dark-haired immortal looked into his grey eyes, and saw a hard determination in them that he knew he couldn't contend with.

"You know what you have to do." Carter said. He loped a few feet across the apartment to stand in the front doorway, and then turned back around to face Duncan. "If you hurt him again, I will kill you Highlander. Do you understand that? I don't expect you to lie to him as to whether you accept us being together, but I do expect you care about him at least a little." Duncan was offended, and he let it show through his eyes as he responded to Carter.

"I do care about Richie, more than you ever could!" Carter laughed, and then his eyes turned hard again as he replied.

"Really? Which of us put him back together after you tried to take his head? Which of us supported him in telling her the truth? Which of us loves him enough to accept his choices?" he paused to let the weight of his words sink into that thick highland skull. "If you care about him Duncan Macleod, you have a very funny way of showing it."

"What do you want me to do?" Duncan asked after a long, pensive pause to consider what had been said to him. He couldn't deny that there was a great deal of truth in the blonde's words.

"Give him a chance. You know he misses you, that he considers you to be the closest thing he ever had to a father, that he feels guilty that he survived and Tessa didn't? If you care about him even half as much as he cares for you, I might just come to like you." Carter ended with a smile, and turned to leave the apartment.

"I don't doubt that you care Highlander," he called over his shoulder, "I just wish you'd let him know it."

Duncan seated himself on the bench to the side of the door. He gripped Richie's sword in his hand. When the younger immortal revived not a moment later, he took a deep, preparatory breath.

"She's gone." He said. "She can walk away, you can't" he ceded. Richie looked at him confused and concerned.

"Where's Carter?" his former student demanded. For the first time, Duncan realized how much Richie must care for the blonde, for that to have been his first waking thought.

"He's waiting for me to leave, outside with Haresh." Duncan told him truthfully as Richie rose to his feet.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Richie asked him.

"In time." Mac answered. "She's dealing with her demons."

"What about us Mac?" Riche asked tentatively. "You and me?"

"You screwed up Rich." He answered. "But it happens…" and then he added, "to all of us." That was as close as he would come to apologizing for his words at the cabin, and Richie realized that. He just hoped that it would be enough to mend their shattered relationship. Truth be told, he missed the kid too.

"I swear, even if I live to be a thousand, I'll still see that guy coming at me, and I'll wonder if there was something I could have done differently." He said as he took a seat next to Duncan on the bench.

"I know." Duncan offered, meaning for it to be comforting. "And he won't be the last. They all stay with you."

"I didn't know you believe in ghosts." Richie said, trying to steer their conversation onto a more cheerful note.

"I believe in the kind you carry with you – everyone you've killed and everyone you've loved. They never leave you." He turned to face his friend eye-to-eye. "When you _stop_ feeling, when you s_top_ hurting, that's when you're dead inside; and that my friend, is when I'll worry about you."

The two immortals shared a smile, and Duncan left. When Haresh and Carter entered the apartment roughly five minutes later, they noticed a profound difference in the young immortal. He was cheerful, and he moved briskly about the apartment. He smiled, and for the first time they had ever seen, it reached his bright blue eyes.

After a momentary dip, their lives together were back and looking up again. They couldn't help but wonder however, as they lay in their beds waiting for sleep to take them, how long it would last.


	5. The Messenger

Author's Note

Alright, I started this chapter 1 hour away from Christmas Day, and I had a lot of problems getting it off the ground. I wasn't sure where to start, and I apologize if my struggle to write this chapter shows through. I think the root of the trouble was figuring out where Haresh and Carter could fit into the episode.

Sadly, this is the last chapter of the story. However, there will be a sequel, and in fact, I have already started writing it. Remember, I did originally introduce this fic as a prequel to another, so for those of you who enjoy this – don't worry. It's not over.

That being said, I hope the small number of you reading this enjoy it, and Merry Christmas!

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The Messenger

Carter tapped his foot impatiently against the kitchen floor. His arms were folded over his chest, and his eternally young feature bore a supremely crossed expression. He couldn't start dinner without milk, and that was what he had sent Richie out for at seven o'clock at night to get, as well as some basil tomatoes, fresh pesto, and potatoes. Still, he felt that his lover should have returned by now. He was about to pick up the phone and call Richie to ask where he was and what on God's green earth was taking him so long, when he realized that he wouldn't be able to answer – Richie had gone out on his bloody motorcycle.

Then he felt the buzz from outside the front door of their apartment, and turned around sharply to face the redhead walking through it. Cross words had been poised to take off on the tip of his tongue, but they fled when Carter saw Richie's eyes.

They were crystalline cerulean blue, and they were positively alight. Carter could feel the energy rolling off his lover in waves as he carried in the groceries began unloading them on the counter.

"Where have you been?" Carter demanded. "I was worried!" he added.

"I met this immortal on the way back-" Carter instantly understood.

"And he challenged you." He finished for the younger immortal as he took out a pot to boil pasta in and a sauce pan.

"No." Richie explained.

"No?" Carter asked him, very confused. "If he didn't challenge than what on earth did he want?" he asked.

"He went on about peace between immortals and laying down your swords, and at first I thought he was insane." Richie paused.

"But?" Carter prompted him as he began chopping up the tomatoes.

"But then he left and I started thinking about what all that would mean. Can you imagine actually enjoying your immortality – no fighting, no taking heads, no challenges?"

"It would be Utopia, and you know that Utopia only exists in theory, don't you love?" Carter asked him.

"Yeah, but what about Haresh and Darius? They retired from the game and never took another head in their lives. Why can't we?"

"Because for all of us to live in piece, we would all have to be satisfied with the power have, and never disagree with each other, and that's just not possible. There might not be that many of us statistically Love, but we'll never agree, and there's more than one power-hungry head hunter out there." Carter argued. Richie sighed, and he felt all of his excitement rush out of his in a mass exodus.

"I know, but I just wanted to believe…"

"That we could stop killing?" Carter asked him. Richie nodded. "You can; you can retire from the game, but only from the challenging part of it. I'm sorry to say this Love, but that is as close to peace as any of us will ever get." He placed a kiss on Richie's lips as he poured raw spaghetti into the now boiling pot of water.

"Maybe you're right." Richie said, and he wrapped his arms around the slightly taller blonde immortal.

"Of course I am." Carter answered cheekily. "Now be a dear and get the pesto out for me, would you?"

Richie did so, and watched Carter busily cook dinner for just the two of them. Haresh had to meet with his publisher on the new book, which was already set to print after only one round of revisions. Haresh was beside himself with excitement and satisfaction at another multi-million dollar contract to be signed, and had boarded the earliest flight to New York.

"Did this mystery immortal give you his name by any chance?" Carter asked him as he stirred the pesto into the sauce pan.

"Yeah, he said his name was Methos." Carter turned arouns, stunned.

"As in the world's oldest immortal?" Richie nodded.

"Why the sudden change in face?" the redhead demanded as he watched his lover's expression shift dramatically.

"I'm not saying I buy all this crock about peace among immortals, mind you, but if he's really Methos, and he's really survived all these thousands of years, maybe there's a thing or two learn from him…" Richie let a childish grin break out over his features at hearing those words.

"Is that your way of telling me that you think I should go meet him where he told me to tomorrow?"

"Just a suggestion…" Carter said innocently, with a sly wink of his right eye. Richie returned the blonde's smirk, and leaned in for a kiss.

It wasn't like he'd had plans or anyway, except for meeting Mac at the dock. Then Richie reconsidered – Maybe Mac would like to meet the guy.

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"I should have known this guy was spewing BS when he said 'evil only exists because of fear'!" Richie ground out as he grasped his sword tightly in his hand. He grasped his beer mug in his other hand, and began to recount to his friends all of the lovely details of his little adventure.

-/-/-/-/-/- Begin Flashback -/-/-/-/-/-

So the day hadn't gone the way he wanted it to. It had started with him saving William Culbraith's life, and then he'd gone to talk to Mac at the Dojo. He had left Mac thoroughly annoyed, and then Mac, Joe, and Adam had pulled him into Joe's for a very interesting little conversation.

Turned out, Adam Pierson, the watcher researcher in charge of finding Methos, was, in fact, Methos. And if that wasn't trippy enough, he'd gone to talk to Fake Methos, and had gotten his ass handed to him by the old guy. After that Richie thought he'd have a little chat with Mac, and then he'd come back to see Methos a few hours later to find him missing his head; fucking brilliant.

It was at that moment that Richie wanted to kick himself for obeying Fake Methos' order to give up his sword. Here he was, no sword and in the presence of an obviously quickening-hungry immortal. He gave himself one more point on the board; he was winning in **Stupidity** and second place to Fake Methos in **Naivety**.

Then he found Culbraith, sitting in one of the large outdoor chairs overlooking the tranquil and extensive Garden, smiling smugly and clutching his blood-stained confederate saber. He'd been challenged, and he didn't have his damn rapier. Richie tried to channel his inner Amanda at first, but he failed to talk his way out of the fight. After that proved an utter failure, he tried dodging the attacks thrown at him so hurriedly by the other immortal. That worked until one wild slash cut through his abdominal muscle.

After that, all he could see was Mac, standing on the hill in his big black coat, looking like a dark angel. He had Richie's sword in his hand.

"The battle's been joined, you can't interfere!" Culbraith had called to him.

"Wouldn't think of it." was the Highlander's reply as he tossed the sword a few feet away from both of them.

Richie dove for all he was worth, wrenching the large gash across his stomach open even further as he did so. He didn't care though. He felt the familiar, comforting weight of his rapier in his hand, and he rose to his knees and lunged forward with it. He caught Culbraith in the stomach, and the man sneered at him with anger and hate in pouring through his eyes and mouth and breath.

"Is this the part where I beg for mercy, or where you say we don't have to do this?" he demanded.

"Neither!" Richie answered him, his voice a snarl.

He delivered a deep slash to the former officer's abdomen, and then brought his sword up to strike the final blow. He heard Culbraith's head roll to the ground, and then felt his quickening seeping into him from all sides.

-/-/-/-/-/- End Flashback-/-/-/-/-/-

Now here he was, sitting at Joe's around a table with Mac, Carter, and Joe. The wound to his stomach still hadn't healed all the way, due in part to the fact that he hadn't died from it and it was very, very deep; they healed faster when they were dead. Richie pretended that beer helped to, as he was on his third one of the night.

"Look at it this way Love – you're not as naïve as him at least, seeing as your still alive." Carter comforted him with a lilting laugh carried in his voice.

"That ain't saying very much." Joe argued, but he was laughing too.

"Thanks for saving my life…again." Richie said to Mac, who nodded to him in acknowledgment.

"No problem Rich, but I just want to point out that if you hadn't stopped me this morning, you wouldn't be in this state." He raised his hands in a 'don't shoot me' sort of way, and waited for the round of fresh laughter to clear up.

"Not to break up the festivities," Haresh interrupted. "But, where is Methos?" he asked the other men sitting around the table, not focusing the question to any one of them in particular.

"He's with Alexa." Joe replied. "She's out of remission."

Everyone's expressions darkened. It was so easy for them to forget the mortality of those around them. Joe didn't say another word on the subject, but his eyes were infinitely darker than anyone else's, and his lips never folded back into his signature wide smile. In fact, his eyes took a peculiar focus on the napkin dispenser, and the reflection of his friends that he saw in it. Then, roughly thirty minutes before everyone left, his mouth set into a firm line, as if he had reached some very important and difficult decision.

As soon as all of his guests had left after bidding him a warm good night the knot in his stomach constricted. Yes, he had to do something. He assumed that his nervousness was from the fact that he wasn't planning on doing anything, and that bothered him. He had been taken into Methos's confidence, and now he had made up his mind to betray it.

But what choice did he have?

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The sound of the phone ringing shattered the peace Richie and Carter had found in their dreams. Richie rushed to answer his cellphone, and after interpreting the lethal glare he was receiving from Carter, he pressed the speakerphone button.

"You got Richie and Carter, go." He answered the phone blearily, trying to focus on the bright light emanating from the device through the dark of their bedroom and the sleep clouding his eyes.

"Hey guys, its Joe. I'm sorry to call at such an ungodly hour-"

"I'll say, it's four in the morning Joe!" Richie interrupted him. Carter elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up.

"I know, but it's urgent! I couldn't say anything before, in front of Mac, but it's about Methos and Alexa."

"What's the matter?" Carter asked, his voice laden with worry for the young mortal girl. He had only met her briefly, but she'd made quite an impression with her charming smile and bright eyes. He also had a great deal of respect for anyone who could strike and ancient immortal speechless, not to mention could turn a great cynic like Methos into a flirt.

"I told you she was out of remission, but what I didn't say was that she's not going through chemo again."

"Radiation then?" Carter guessed.

"No, she just can't do it after the last time. She doesn't have it in her." Joes explained sadly.

"So what? She's just gonna give up?" Richie asked, with about a thimble-full of anger tingeing his words.

"It's a painful process, and Methos has already tried to assemble Methuselah's stone, but he damn near lost his cover as Adam Pierson getting it."

"So, he's trying to find another way to heal her, or make her immortal?" Richie guessed, feeling a little sheepish for the assumption he had made.

"No; he's not gonna come out and ask for the kind if help he needs to pull something like this off, but I'll damn well do it for him. If he loses Alexa, we'll lose him." Joe said firmly.

"What exactly are we trying to pull off?" Carter asked.

"Actually, I mainly need Richie. You might actually hinder this operation, I'm sorry to say." And Carter dropped it, because he could tell from Joe's voice that he was sincere in his apology.

"Alright," Richie asked, sitting up in bed. "What's the plan?"

"I've got one of my best watchers researching hat kind of artifact we need. When she's found it, I've already got the names for the team that'll need to steal it."

"I see how it is then," Richie answer jokingly, "I'm guessing we're talking banks or antique stores either?"

"No, we're talking a museum, for sure. The team is all immortal and pre-immortal, including this researcher. I've known for a while, and come to think of it, so does Methos."

"When is this going down?" Carter asked.

"Soon – we don't have a whole lot of time as it is. You'll get the call as soon she tells me what we're looking for."

"Alright then. Now, can we go back to sleep?" Richie asked him.

"Yeah, but don't get comfortable." Joe said, before he hung up the phone.

He felt a little bit better; but the knot had changed more in substance than in size. He had omitted _a lot_ of information for his conversation with Richie and Carter; like whom else he was involving, or _who_ the researcher was, or that he knew _way_ more about Richie's past than he had ever let on.

He finished his glass of whiskey, pouring it down his throat in one swift and smooth gesture perfected over fifty-plus years of drinking his sorrows away and drowning the ones that dared to stay in even more alcohol. His eyes slid to the notepad nestled in his palm and the names he had scrawled on the topmost piece of paper.

Richard H. Ryan

Amanda Darieux

Brenda Wyatt

Cory Raines

Neil K. Ryan

Shane D. Ryan

Kleopatra A. Grace

Flynn L. Ryan


	6. The End

Alright, I mentioned this in the Author's Note in the last chapter, but some folks didn't seem to get it. That's okay, I don't mind repeating myself – it's better than leaving people confused.

A Bad Joke is officially complete, but I've already written the sequel to it. It's called **Thick as Thieves**, and the first chapter is already up! Also, if I can ever find any inspiration, I'll write oneshots for this pairing, like I do others. If you have a suggestion, message it to me, or put it in a review if that's easier for you.

Yours Truly,

Katya beisel76


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